Looking out at the city he begins to think:
How will this matter?
Where will it leave a mark?
It’s no Frost,
no Eliot,
thankfully not Thoreau.
Is this doomed to sit here,
alone and empty?
Or will it be like those of Dickenson,
only to come to light after he fades to black?
He sits and wonders,
as the storm rolls in
and the tide sweeps out.
From the Rooftops by William Sowards is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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